Hideaway Strath it's not the same as when i was punched

He found himself tucked into a deep bed of snow that morning. A rather stark stain against the world with his russet colors and patched shades of black. He should have put himself quick to work, this he knew. Yet he had found himself in some sort of comfortable, vulnerable state. Still high off of the names he had been given and how kindly he had been received.

He stretched unworked limbs, stuck out and buried them into the snow around him. He was...an almost pitiful sight if not for the occasional wag of a thick tail.